Diamond in the Rough
by Gaea Blackwell
Summary: A sequel of sorts to Moon Howling, but also a stand-alone. A teenage Sirius Black has nowhere to go but Hogwarts, and the discovery of his own greater powers only complicate things.
1. Prologue: In the End

****

Initium ab Tristis

Prologue: Iam Tandem 

Gaea Blackwell

Disclaimer: This is the prologue to Sirius's series. The title is Latin for "Beginning of Sadness" and the Prologue's title means "In the End." Don't smack me if the translations are wrong, you Latin buffs out there – my only means of Latin translation is a Latin-English dictionary I found on the 'net (which is of much use, I must say). This part is really quite dark, in my opinion, and it does the exact opposite that Remus's does. It doesn't start at the very beginning, but at the very end. Hey, I gotta shake things up a bit, don't I? "Sirius Black" belongs to JKR, etc. Oh, and it might be hard to figure out which character's perspective this is in, or who it's about, exactly, but keep this in mind: Harry wasn't the only one to ever have parents killed in front of him. Also, this part might be a bit confusing, but that's just cuz you don't know the whole story yet. Mwahahahaha. I think Sirius's story will be, by far, the most interesting.

_____________________________________________________________

The picture was worn with age, cracked down the middle from being creased down the middle and carelessly stuffed into a pocket for thirteen years. The smiling faces imprinted upon the lightweight paper seemed to dim with every passing day, reflecting the reality of the passage of time and fading of memories. But the memory of the picture was as crisp as freshly washed linen.

Smiling to himself, he could see ghostly figures dancing before his mind's eye, laugh lines digging themselves around a genuine smile and battling against the cheerful dimples of childhood. He could see a woman laughing and a woman crying, all with the mere joy of life itself. He could embrace the love of a household, taste the freshly baked cookies on Christmas Eve, and wake up with the dawn to a sunlit bedroom.

But he never smiled, and could never see these things.

Closing his eyes, he could see the green light washing around him, bathing him in the assurance of a quick end. He could hear the piercing screams, the pleading, the laughter – the laughter that sucked the marrow out of joy. But the worst, by far, was feeling the sudden, immense regret. He felt the loss, the pain, the impromptu grief that struck him with the force of a thousand gales. _No, don't die…don't leave me …_silent tears pleaded through his memory, bringing about a harsh pounding in his ears and throbbing against his temple. He would curl his legs up to his chest, burying his head among his arms, trying to drone out the noise. But it was to no avail. The noise - the fear - was within him, and he could never escape it. He could not run, for the taunting voices would follow, coming ever nearer and bearing down upon him.

He could cry, but the tears did nothing to alleviate the heartache. The tears did not mend, but poured salt upon his open wound, stinging him like poison. He merely squeezed his eyes shut, threatening the tears to come, yet knowing that there were none left. _I deserve this pain. Come, spill over my damaged heart. Tear it open with your mockery_. He would search the never-ending expanses of his brain for some inkling of joy, something to remind himself that there was life apart from this hell.

But no, there was nothing left. Nothing but hatred for the traitor that had betrayed the family he had once known. They were his only family…_the only ones to ever care…_

And then something would squeeze itself out from the depths of his very being, some whisper of light that danced just out of his reach, beckoning him ever closer. He would follow, withdrawing himself into the darkness, hoping to reach the light, to pull it to him, to hold it for only a moment. To clasp it in his heart and beg it to forgive him, to let him immerse himself in the happiness he had once known. It would answer, giving him only the insinuation of faraway voices, calling to him from beyond life itself. They now existed only in his memory, yet they were there, calling to him. But these voices were remote, deserted among the island of his heart. A sea of depression spread between his mind and heart, his conscious being trying all he could to cross it. But only the subconscious would give him the brief hope of ever seeing the people he wished to see most. 

Such was the life of Sirius Black.


	2. Oliver Twist

Diamond in the Rough

Chapter One

"Sirius, you prat. Stop stealing my wand!"

Sirius winced at the expression on his uncle's face and handed the slim wooden rod back to the tall, dark man. He scowled past the man, landing his gaze on a younger boy, who clung to his father with an infant-like fervor.

"Now go fix Peter a sandwich. I have to work."

"You make the bloody sandwich! I'm not his servant!" Sirius protested, as Peter shrunk against his father, avoiding Sirius' penetrating glare.

Uncle Vince clenched his hands into fists. "Honestly. _Why_ couldn't you be more like Remus?!"

Peter started whining, clinging to his father's cloak. He had seen the forthcoming torrent more than once in the past week.

"_Why_ must you insist that I be more like some ill, brainy prick that's never been out of his house?!"

Peter was then left without a cloak to cling to, as his father swept across the room, grabbed Sirius by the scruff of his neck, and thrust him into his bedroom.

"Forget the sandwich. But just see how long you can stay in here without cursing or speaking back to me!" Vince bellowed, blocking the doorway.

Sirius climbed onto his bed and turned his back to the door, gazing straight out the window. Arms crossed over his chest, he said nothing. Vince left then, slamming the door behind him and brushing past the frightened nine-year-old in the hallway.

"What about my sandwich?" Peter squeaked.

Uncharacteristically, Vince did not answer the plump boy. He had a few choice words to remark, but did not enjoy the idea of having yet another sulking boy in his house. 

Sirius remained in his room, finally lying on his back and folding his arms behind his head. He really couldn't blame his uncle. Any man would react irrationally to such a threat in his home. Vince simply wanted his son to be as powerful a wizard as he, but Peter was practically a Squib – and, of course, Sirius couldn't help but "flaunt his abilities" by stealing Vince's wand once in a while.

"Since when did being talented become a curse?" he muttered to himself.

Not that he wasn't modest, of course.

The letter came in June. Vince was nearly gone everyday by that point, claiming to have business to attend to. Sirius knew for a fact, thought, that "business" comprised of one Rowena Lupin. He had his suspicions about the matter however: Uncle Vince was simply incapable of affection.

But Sirius was grateful for the absence of his so-called uncle. It gave him an opportunity to majick live rats between Peter's bedsheets and watch the Squib-wonder squirm in his sleep. It also gave him an ample window of time to receive his Hogwarts acceptance letter without parental supervision. Vince was quite convinced that Sirius would be home-schooled (as a Muggle, no doubt), so that Peter might catch up to his older cousin in a few years' time. Sirius couldn't help but think that it would take a lifetime, at the very least.

But, thankfully, the letter did come, and it was at a time when Peter was busy blasting aliens on Wizard-vison and Uncle Vince was nowhere to be seen. Sirius had been waving a crude stick in the air, willing it to show some semblance of a wand, when the tawny barn owl flew right through their window, landing with a resonating thud on the kitchen table. Sirius dropped the stick and ran at the owl, nearly frightening it away in his fervent lunge. He ripped open the envelope as soon as he grasped it, unfolding the letter with eager eyes. 

****

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

**Dear Mr. Black,**

Please excuse this owl's performance. Our gamekeeper, 

Rubeus Hagrid, neglected to remember that not all magical creatures take well to whiskey. A healthy bowl of water may be of aid to the animal, if you so wish. However, I imagine you find this situation highly amusing.

Back to the purpose of this letter, it is to notify you of your acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I hope to see your reply no later than June 12th.

Best regards to you and your family,

Minerva McGonagall

****

Minerva McGonagall,

****

Deputy Headmistress

Sirius rose a single eyebrow as he finished, glancing at the tawny owl once more. It was now staggering across the table in a drunken stupor, its eyes glazed over.

"Hagrid, did she say?" he wondered aloud. "Blimey, must be a great ol' git. Must meet him."

Peter had left the WV at the sound of the owl's landing, and now stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Sirius with apt curiosity. "What's that?" he asked the older boy.

Sirius scowled. "You'll never know, now will you?" he teased, tucking the letter away. His eleventh birthday was in a week. He had enough time to scrounge up Vince's old books and reply. He'd worry about getting his own wand later.

Sirius Black was placed under the careful eye of Vincent Pettigrew by default. Had he had any say in the matter, he would have rather disappeared without a trace, along with his parents. But that wasn't the way things had turned out, and it didn't make for a very interesting story to tell his schoolmates. He would sit in the center of the room at Mugwump Primary School, relating his poor-little-orphan-boy saga to the class, but would soon find the attention drawn away from him, for lack of information. So what, if he hadn't known the circumstances surrounding the matter? So what, if he hadn't seen if they were killed or not? Being deprived of his appetite for attention soon coerced him into making the details himself. He had a different story every year, but his latest was, by, far, his favorite.

He had sat in the center of the grade five class, surrounded by the same, familiar faces – sprinkled with a few newcomers – all of them waiting with bated breath to hear his story again. He sucked in his breath, and looked around slyly before beginning. He found that it helped set the mood.

"Well, I was only a year old. Oddly enough, my memories go back that far…I remember, we had gone for a walk, Mum pushing me in my stroller and Dad with his cane – he had broken his hip in the war against Grindelwald, you know – and we found ourselves in the park. The sun was just setting, and you could see the full moon rising. I heard wolves howling, and I know they were werewolves – what else could they be? But then I heard my mum scream, and my Dad's cane flew out of his hand as he was tackled to the ground by an actual, rabid vampire! No clue how vampires get rabies, 'magine it's like a dog – but my poor mum tried to fight it off. 'NO!' she kept screaming, and what could little me do? I cried. I cried and cried, and that vampire turned on me, with its nasty red eyes peering straight down into my soul. I felt like dying right then and there, but no! No! The vampire went back to my dad and sucked all of his blood out. Mum was screaming like a banshee, beating the Undead thing to a pulp. 'Course, it didn't matter much, you can't beat a vampire. And when it was done with me Dad, it grabbed my mum and sucked all _her_ blood!"

He would pause hear, waiting for the information to sink in and the quiet gasps of disbelief to escape his listener's lips.

"But when I was the only living thing left out there, that night, that nasty old vampire had had its fill, and left me to my poor self. There I was, barely out of infancy, left in the dead of the night. My dead parents were lying around me, and I was getting mighty hungry. I must have stayed there for hours and hours, just waiting for someone to help me, but of course, no one did."

Pause for sympathy. He smirked inwardly as he saw the girls' eyes watering.

"But then, _weeks_ later, this ugly old man was hobbling down the street with his own son, just a baby, and saw me lying on the street with two dead people. He broke out into laughter – why, I still don't know. I imagine it was the absurdity of the situation. It looked as though _I_ had been the murderer, caught red-handed. Well, that ugly old man picked me up and carried me to his house. I never saw me parents again and I never knew any different. But now I live in the tiniest room of his house, eating only the scraps of his dog's dinner. I get water when I beg for it, and new clothes if I sing and dance for his son. All in all, though, it could be worse."

"Oh, Sirius!" several of the girls cried. One of them actually ran to hug him, wiping her tears on her shirt.

He was convulsing with laughter inside. "Yes, yes. But whenever I see the full moon, I can't help but think of the way things could be, and then do you know what I do?" he asked the audience.

"What, Sirius? What?" they asked.

"I cry like a banshee, I do."

The girls broke out into sobs. The boys glanced uncertainly at one another. Surely the Sirius _they_ knew couldn't shed tears…could he? Sirius was passing out from suffocation of too much laughter, on the inside.

Too bad that wasn't the way that things had really happened.

The last time the matter had been questioned, Sirius had been seven years old. He had suddenly decided that his entire existence was a lie and that he would devote his life to discovering the truth. Of course, he was, by then, already known to carry off in such whimsical fantasies of reality. With a bold gesture on his part, he had approached Vincent Pettigrew after dinner one night, his chin held high in his signature of maturity.

"Uncle Vince?" he had asked.

The man grunted in answer.

"I think I'm old enough to know why my parents are gone, don't you?" The prideful chin was slowly drooping.

Uncle Vince turned languidly, peering down at the dark-haired boy. "Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, could you please tell me why I live with you, and not my parents - …sir?" He threw in the title as a last resort, noticing the look of seething anger that had suddenly erupted below the surface of his uncle's eyes.

The older man grunted again, half-smirking. "Curious, are you? Not as grateful of my hospitality?"

"No, no! That's not it at all - …sir… I just want to know the truth. I have a right to know."

"Since when did this become Parliament?"

"When you claimed yourself dictator."

Vince nodded. "Ah…then…as dictator, I must decree that Parliament no longer exists, and you have no rights. G'day." He went back to his work, whisking his wand out and waving it over a sheaf of parchment.

Sirius scowled at his uncle's back, picturing boils rising all along the man's neck and shoulders, in his mind. Smirking to himself, he didn't notice little Peter toddle up to his father, thumb planted firmly in mouth. 

"Daddy, Daddy! Why don't Sirius' parents love him?" Peter asked, tugging on Vince's robes.

Sirius cocked his head to the side in a dog-like manner. _My, my, Petrov. You can actually be useful at times…_

Vince yanked his robes out of the boy's grasp. "Because they've disappeared, and I've taken it upon myself to raise their son – seeing as how I was their best friend years ago."

"Dis-app-ar-ated?" Peter questioned, smacking his lips with each syllable. 

"No, Peter. Disappeared. Left. Departed. Withdrawn," Vince growled, his impatience wearing thin.

"Oh."

So that was it. That was _it?_ No vampires, no werewolves, no fighting Dark wizards? Sirius had always imagined it to be something more fanciful and unrealistic. They were his parents, after all. They had to have had some sort of imagination – a sense of humor! - didn't they?

Well, no. He took that back. Of course they had a sense of humor. They had left him with no one but Vince Pettigrew in his life.

A/N: A couple notes…first of all, no, Vince does not have a wife, and yes, Peter Pettigrew is his son. I know, the whole matter of Peter's mother being sent Peter's finger after he died and all…don't worry, she's not dead. She and Vince are more like…separated. Secondly, Vince is not Sirius' actual uncle. He just calls him that as a term of "endearment." Peter's a year younger than Sirius, and I just figured there would always be some sort of rivalry between them. Just keep in mind that Sirius isn't really being that vicious – he's a sarcastic soul, like moi, and lets that get in the way of "niceties." Other things will be answered as they come about…yadda yadda yadda. Oh yeah. This starts at the same time that Remus' story does. And I'm sorry that I'm not done with Remus' story yet! It will be finished soon, never fear. Peace out.


	3. Swirling Waters of the Mind

A/N: This is chapter 2, though it does skip ahead two and a half years. I was originally going to have this story parallel _Moon Howling_, but after finishing that one, I decided that I wanted this to be a continuation of that universe, told by Sirius' eyes. You could consider it a sequel, though sequels typically focus on the same point-of-view. Chapter 1 is basically just an introduction to Sirius' life before Hogwarts, and this chapter picks up right where MH left off – the end of their second year (MH ends somewhere near the beginning of that year). If you haven't read MH, you probably won't understand a _lot_ of this, so you might just want to read that one – it's short, I promise J Enjoy!

Diamond in the Rough

Chapter 02: Swirling Waters of the Mind

__

I knew there was a reason that I never liked my Uncle Vince. I may have known very little about him, as a child, but I had that odd intuition (or perhaps over-active imagination) that nagged at me more than Lily ever did poor James. Vince never went out of his way to protect me, like he did with ickle Peterkins. If the school bully was after me with a blunt object, that was my problem. At best, he would notice long enough to have a hearty laugh, and then coo over the beautiful landscape that Peter had made in art class (somehow, his mountains always resembled pig heads. Don't ask how). 

I never liked Peter either. I learned to tolerate him, eventually. Otherwise, I would have gone out of my mind. Some might argue that I have_ gone out of my mind, but I beg to differ. If I had known what a complete … well, _*expletive*_, Peter would turn out to be, I would have become quite smug in my assessment of him, as a whiny little first-year. Saved our butts or not, he was annoying._

And Remus couldn't have made it harder on me, to hate the pudgy excuse for a human being. He pitied_ the brat. I guess there's some sort of Unwritten Code for Wizard Misfits. They have to stick up for each other or something like that. Remus almost seemed to like the guy. But whenever he got away from Peter, I could always see a change in his eyes; something like sadness being lifted from his soul or maybe it was just relief on his tolerance capabilities. But I guess I do have to envy Wolf-Boy. I could never be as good a person as he was._

I wonder what happened to Remus. He was so different after our second year…like there was a deep secret embedded within him. I never did find out what happened to him while James and I were conked out, hidden away in that secret room. Then, later, I was too busy celebrating my freedom to deal with trivial matters (selfish little twit, aren't I?).

Too bad I couldn't have been freed from Peter, as well.

June, 1970

"But, Professor - !"

"No ifs, ands, or buts, Sirius. You're going to live with this man, and Peter's going with you."

Sirius' face was going red and he felt the familiar boiling sensation on the top of his head. One more word, and steam was going to pour out of his ears.

"I understand that you have no regrets for the recent death of your uncle, but you need to understand Peter's grief. At least try to be sympathetic."

Cue the steam. "_Sympathetic?!_ You want me to be _sympathetic_ to a git like that?!"

McGonagall's eyes were beginning to match Sirius' cheeks. She might be a stern teacher, but he had quickly discovered that she would have been an awful mother. She just didn't have the patience to deal with insubordinance. "Sirius. I am ashamed of you. Not only did you go out of your way to be cruel to Peter the past year, but to say something like that, at a time like this, is unacceptable."

"Well, then expel me, by all means. I know it's what you're all wanting to do, anyway."

She was silent. He smirked slightly, thinking he had won. But he knew better: never let your guard down, even when the enemy is backing down. They could always retaliate with a stab in the back.

She aimed for his heart, instead. "You wouldn't want to disappoint your parents like that, would you, Sirius?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. He blinked, closing his lips as he realized that he had nothing to retaliate with. He had always figured that he disappointed them anyway…no point in trying to impress someone that was dead.

"Yes, Sirius. Your parents would be highly disappointed if you did not complete your education at Hogwarts. They had great aspirations for you."

He sank down into the chair before McGonagall's desk, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Did you…did you know my parents?" he whispered hoarsely.

Professor McGonagall's expression softened considerably. Her youthful eyes regarded the boy before her for a long moment, trying to discern the source of his actions. Was he merely trying to gain sympathy from her, or was this the true Sirius? She shrugged to herself, and answered truthfully. "Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. Your mother and I were good friends during our school days."

The ghost of a smile flashed across his face, but it disappeared before she could so much as blink. "Well, it's good to know that someone remembers her. Vince didn't, and I never did, obviously."

Maybe it _was_ the true Sirius she was seeing. "Other people remember her, I'm sure. Professor Dumbledore was our Transfigurations teacher. Professor Binns taught History of Magic when he was alive, as well. Your mother was quite popular, as I remember."

He shrugged. "Memory isn't important, anyway. We always twist it into our contorted images of life." He stood up, eyes red from rubbing them awake. "I'll just go pack now, I suppose. Thanks, Professor."

Raising an eyebrow, she only nodded, watching him go silently.

It wasn't much. It was tiny, it was old, it was run-down, but it was four walls and a roof. It was better than a shack. And it had running water. It would do.

Sirius lowered his hand from his forehead, blinking as the sun hit his eyes, now unshielded against the light. He readjusted the grip on his trunk, and hauled it forward, not bothering to look back, to make sure that Peter was following. He almost hoped that he wasn't.

"You must be Peter!" the old man cried.

Sirius let out a small chuckle, almost chiding the man. He held back any replies he may have had at that moment, remembering the short lesson he'd had on cordiality, compliments of James and Remus.

"No! _I'm_ Peter," the stout boy answered. "That's Sirius." He pointed a chubby finger at the dark-haired boy.

Sirius threw him a glare. _Watch it, boy. We're not foster brothers anymore. I could leave you alone with Ol' Wheezer here quicker than you could say 'Alohomora.' Oh, that's right. You _can't_ say 'Alohomora.' _ He smirked to himself.

The old man chuckled, striding across the crabgrass lawn to clap a hand on Sirius' back. "Well, pardon me, Sirius! They didn't tell me what either of you would be like, at all. I had a hunch, though…funny how wrong we can be."

Sirius glanced sideways at the man, wrinkling his nose as he caught a whiff of L'eau de Vache*. He was not fond of giant, furry animals – unless they were safely pictured in textbooks. "That's all right, sir," he choked out.

"Oh, no, call me Holden. Holden Granger."

There was a snicker behind him. Sirius turned to glare back at Peter again, but the boy's smirk was covered with his hand. Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Mr., er, Holden," Sirius finally answered.

Holden smiled, and grabbed Sirius' trunk from him. "I'll just go put this in your room, you go ahead and have a look around the place. You too, Peter."

Peter dropped his trunk with a thud. There was no fighting him for the opportunity to let other people do his work. 

Sirius shrugged, tucked his hands into his robe pockets, and strode off towards the woods, as Holden dragged the black trunk into the tiny house. He broke through the line of trees and instantly found himself standing at the edge of a lake. It was only a few feet deep, as he could see straight through the crystal-clear water to the smooth pebbles at the bottom. He hung his head for a moment, gazing down at it and watching the tiny black fish dart in and out of the water plants.

Peter came up beside him after a matter of minutes, but he remained quiet. Sirius was surprised. He had never known such a thing to be possible. After awhile, the silence became unnerving, and so he began to move down the shoreline, stepping over fallen branches. Peter followed him.

He whirled around to face the younger boy. "Is there something you want, Peter? Because I'm not in the mood to be annoyed right now, trust me. Underage Wizard Law or no, I _will_ blast you into next Tuesday if you so much as squeak."

Peter drew back from Sirius slightly. He lowered his gaze, and Sirius panicked for a moment – was that a _hurt_ look he just gave him? But before Sirius could ask, Peter had turned away, headed back towards the house.

__

Well, no use worrying about it now.

He sighed, and kept walking along the edge of the lake, glancing towards the water every once in awhile, pleased to note that it seemed to deepen as he continued. It might be big enough to swim in, after all…

"Did you tell him?"

"Did I tell him? Of course not!"

He froze. Voices? Out here? Where on earth could they be coming from? He didn't dare look around, for fear of disturbing the people that were whispering hurriedly…somewhere…

"Good. Be sure he doesn't know."

"I'm not stupid."

"I never said that you were."

"Whatever." There was a dull "pop!" and then the voices stopped. Another "pop!" soon followed, and Sirius blinked in confusion. The people must have Disapparated away. Had they known he was listening? No, that was impossible. He shook his head as a slight chill ran down his spine, and shrugged the voices out of his mind. It was no matter – they were gone now. He glanced towards the lake water again – 

And stopped.

As if things couldn't possibly get any weirder, the lake was turning colors. First red, then green. It was starting to tinge a bit purple at the edges. He recoiled, stepping as far back from the water as he could get, while still keeping it in plain sight. "What the _heck_ is going on here?!"

"It's the Powers," he heard a tiny voice whisper.

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "PETER!" he yelled. "Are you doing this on purpose?!"

"Doing what?" the boy asked, stepping out from behind the trees.

"Turning the lake colors! Freaking me out!"

Peter shook his head, but he did not seem surprised at the natural phenomenon occurring in front of him. "No, I just told you. It's the Powers."

"What the heck are Powers?"

Peter's eyes went rolling around as he breathed out a haughty sigh. "_Honestly_, Sirius, didn't you pay attention to Daddy?"

He tossed Peter a glare for the umpteenth time that day, his gaze now murderous. "No, _Peter_, I didn't pay attention to 'Daddy,' as I was too busy trying to keep a six-foot gorilla from including my brains in its evening stew! And before you ask, yes, he _did_ set a gorilla on me, once. I had taken something out of his desk drawer – never you mind what I took, just…well, he set a gorilla on me, for God's sake! When was I going to have the time to _listen_ to the bloody git?!"

Peter's lip was quivering. "Daddy never did anything like that!"

Sirius rolled his eyes this time, throwing his hands into the air. "Forget it! Just forget it! I don't care what Powers are, as long as they stop turning this lake water into a hippie LSD trip!"

The colors stopped. Within moments, the lake had returned to its normal transparent sheen.

Sirius gawked. "Don't tell me _I_ did that."

Peter shrugged, and turned to leave. He took one step before Sirius thrust out his hand and yanked Peter back by the hood of his robes. "What. Are. Powers. Peter?"

Peter squeaked. Then, remembering Sirius' earlier threat, he clapped his hand over his mouth to keep from doing it again.

"I'm not going to curse you, you prat! What are Powers?!"

"They're…they're special. Not everyone h-has them."

"Well, obviously. Otherwise, I would know about them, now wouldn't I?"

The whole of Peter's body was shaking now. "I told Daddy to tell you! I did! He made me swear to keep it secret! It's not my fault!"

"Of course not. It's never your fault, is it?" Sirius' eyes had now narrowed to mere slits, but he kept his grip on Peter's robes firm. "Tell me what they are, Peter, or I may resort to Muggle methods of persuasion."

"They're Powers! You have Powers, okay? You can do things that other people can't."

Sirius snorted. He let Peter go, nearly tossing him backwards. "Yeah, right. Sirius Black, the orphan the no one wants, likes, or gives a flying broomstick about, has special powers? That's a good one."

"I like you!" Peter vehemently stated.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Only when there's something in it for you. What do you want this time? A cookie? Chocolate Frog? Well, I don't have any."

Peter frowned, straightening the collar of his robes. "You don't want to know what Powers are."

"Well, that's perceptive. Yes, Peter, I'm standing here, screaming at you and yanking you around like a rag-doll, just to _keep_ you from telling me what Powers are."

Peter stuck his chin out defiantly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I'm not telling you."

"Fine by me. Just don't whine when my Powers seep out of my brain at night and kill you, because I have no way of controlling them, because, gee, _I don't know what they are!_"

Peter let out a "hmph!" of disapproval, and stalked off towards the house once more. Sirius sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he turned back to the lake.

It was tainted a nice shade of chartreuse.

"Sirius, this is your room. It's not much, but it should be comfortable for two months." Holden lit a candle with his wand and handed it to Sirius. It was dim, but the instant that Sirius set it on his dresser, it illuminated the entire closet-sized room. Sirius frowned in satisfaction, realizing that it was charmed to do so. 

"I put your trunk under your bed, feel free to unpack at your own leisure. I'm not one for packing and unpacking a lot, myself."

Sirius nodded, and sat down on the foot of his bed, testing out the mattress. It was squishy, and it wasn't as big as his bed at Hogwarts, but it would definitely do. _After all,_ he reminded himself, _I could be sleeping in a cardboard box, with Peter snoring in my ear._

Holden clicked the door shut then, and disappeared down the tiny hallway to Peter's room. Sirius could hear their voices through the wall, but easily tuned them out and turned around to peer out his window. It was directly across from his bed, as it had been at Vince's house, except it now faced east, so that the sun would be waking him in the mornings. He groaned. It didn't look like he would be sleeping in, anytime soon.

Sighing, he kicked off his dragon-hide boots and slid under the musty covers of the bed. They reminded him, oddly enough, of a grandmother's house – though he had never had a grandmother. They had that smell of years gone by, but were unused enough to be almost considered new.

Not even bothering to take his robes off, he laid his head down on his pillow, and promptly fell fast asleep.

__


	4. Letters and Introspection

Diamond in the Rough

Chapter Three – Letters and Introspection

James –

Send help soon. I find myself in a constant state of despair at the moment and am in desperate need of a daring rescue. Preferably by a blonde goddess in skimpy robes – but I guess you'll have to do. Peter has done nothing but whine since we got here. A few ideas:

"The food's too hot!"

"My room is too cold."

"My room is too small!"

"My poor owl can't breathe in the small room that's too cold!"

You get the picture. Holden really isn't that bad of a guy, I guess. But he treats this place as if it were a majestic castle. It's almost enough for me to want to rip out my beautiful strands of hair and scream at the bloody git, "Don't you see?! It's all falling to pieces! We're all going to die!"

But that might be a bit overdramatic, and I really should keep my actions within reason. Peter might begin to complain, after all.

__

Sirius

*******

Sirius:

Don't worry. If I weren't kidnapped and locked up in my room, I would probably come join you. Summer vacation in Godric's Hollow really isn't that much better, you know. My mother has taken a liking to the Evans. Yes, the Evans. And here's the best part: Mum's tutoring Lily. The oldest Evans girl, I'm sure you've met her. She's the only witch in her family, and Mum decided that Lily was smart enough to get a bit ahead in school. Does she do that for _me,_ her only child? Heck no. Instead, she dotes on the rich snob as though she were a goddess herself.

Annoyingly yours,

__

James

*******

James – 

I'm beginning to get the idea that you don't like this girl. But hey, look on the bright side. If she's a goddess, you could always send her to rescue me!

__

Sirius

*******

Sirius:

Nice try. No, really. You're too good of a friend for me to do that to you. I'm not joking. Today alone, the prat managed to implode our kitchen into a pile of dust and feathers. Mum fixed it, mind you, but the lesson wasn't quite the same after that. She said she was sorry, but you could tell that she was highly amused by the whole thing.

Right about now, I'd be wishing to have someone like Peter around. At least he'd be a reminder that there _are_ people in the world that will worship the ground I walk on (said with the utmost of modesty, mind you). 

Always modest,

__

James

*******

James – 

I am disgusted.

Disgusted,

__

Sirius

*******

Sirius grinned to himself as he folded the letter into a neat square and tied it to James' owl, Helwig. Wincing as it nicked his finger affectionately, he shoved it out the window and slammed the shutters behind it. Helwig stumbled off of the windowsill and caught her wings in the air before flying off, but Sirius didn't mind much. He was more concerned with being as quiet as possible. It he didn't make a noise until dinner, there was a slight chance that Peter might forget that he was home – and then he wouldn't have to suffer through another battle over wits and tears.

He had no such luck.

"Sirius! Sirius, are you home?" Peter pushed open Sirius' bedroom door, to find him flopped over on his bed, lying on his back with arms flung out to his sides and head drooping over the edge, hanging upside down. Blood was beginning to rush into his face, giving his cheeks a nice crimson glow. "Are you experimenting with new perspectives on life, Sirius?"

The darker-haired boy was appalled. Did Peter, _the_ Peter – Peter that cried (literally) at the drop of a hat – just crack a _joke_? His mouth hung open, only he found it harder work to keep his jaw up than he would have, if his head had been up-right. He closed it and blinked. "No, not really, I'm trying to see how long I can do this without passing out."

"Oh, good."

He sighed. Of course. Peter hadn't been joking. He was serious. As usual.

"What do you want, Peter?" Sirius hauled himself up, groaning as his stomach muscles cried out in protest.

"I don't want anything," the boy said, rather indignantly.

"That's what Napoleon said," Sirius chided, folding his legs underneath himself and sitting Indian-style on the patchwork quilt that spread over the expanse of his bed.

Peter gave him a look of confusion.

Sighing, Sirius clapped a hand to his forehead and groaned as he rubbed at his eyes. "Oh, just nevermind. Anything I say goes over your head, it's not worth it."

Peter pursed his lips together in anger. Crossing his arms over his chest so fast that he almost smacked himself in the face, he glared machine guns at Sirius, but Sirius could only snicker.

"G'on, Peter. If you leave, it'll only make me happy. If you stay, it'll only make you miserable. Either way, I win and you lose. So just go about your daily life without making mine wretched, as well."

The pudgy boy stomped his foot and grunted.

Sirius bit his lip to keep back gales of laughter. "Oh, that's just Kodak, that is. Not only are you a blubbering twit, but you're acting like a three-year-old!"

A few seconds later, Sirius' door had been slammed against the frame and the walls had shaken with the force. A glass figurine toppled to the floor and shattered on the hardwood floor. Grumbling, Sirius drew out his wand and pointed it at the now-ruined tiny orb. "_Reparo!_"

The pieces flew back onto the shelf, reassembling themselves into one molded shape before landing gracefully on the wooden shelf. Glaring towards the door, he muttered a few curses that would not be found in _The Standard Book of Spells_. As he tossed his ebony wand back onto his bed, he ran a hand through his mussed hair, not bothering to glance in the mirror. "Stupid prat," he muttered. "Always ruining everything."

Groaning, he held his head in his hands as a sudden thought hit him. Remus had never had a bad word to say about Peter…yet Sirius and James knew that he loathed Peter just as much as they did. Remus never ceased to amaze…

Peter had never been one for learning quickly. But he had a good ear for spying. It had only taken him a matter of weeks after the Secret Room Incident to realize just what Remus, James, and Sirius were planning to do. He didn't resolve to keep it a secret, either.

As expected of Peter, he went running off to tell the first person he saw that yes, Remus Lupin was a werewolf. Fortunately, the first person he found was James.

"James!" he had cried.

James had had his nose buried in a book, examining the most grotesque side effects of the Animagi transformation, muttering to himself. "Ew…turned into a slug and squashed under a wizard's boot…turned into a goldfish and flopped about hopelessly for hours before finally suffocating to death…" he read aloud. Upon hearing his name, his head snapped up and he slammed the book shut with one hand. "Yes? Oh, hello, Peter."

"James, Remus is a werewolf, and I know what you're doing! I know what that book's for, too!"

Raising an inquistive eyebrow, James had instinctively put the book behind his back. "Do you?"

Peter had nearly been bouncing in glee. "Yes! You're going to become an Animagi, and you're not going to be registered, because it's illegal to learn it on your own. And then you're going to be in _loads_ of trouble…"

"I should hope not, Peter."

"Oh, you will. Just wait till I tell Professor McGonagall!"

It was then that Sirius had appeared around the corner, toting a bag full of even more books. "What was that about a goldfish? Rather unfortunate…Ugh, hey Peter."

Peter's face had turned even more sour as he caught sight of Sirius. "And you! You're going to be in even more trouble!"

Sirius shrugged off Peter's accusatory finger. "I rather like to think so, thanks very much."

James then leaned over to Sirius, and whispered in his ear, "He knows."

"What!" Sirius had exclaimed. "He never knows anything! What he could he possibly know?"

James sighed, and glanced towards Peter before answering. "Well…everything."

Sirius' shoulders drooped. "Blast," he muttered.

Peter's arms were now crossed indignantly over his chest, a rather smug look on his face. "Well, there is one solution."

Sirius' black eyes narrowed. "If it involves polishing your shoes, you can forget it." James couldn't help but nod.

Peter rolled his eyes rather prissily and then glared at the two of them. "If you make me an Animagi, too, then I won't tell."

"Well, I would hope not, seeing as how that would be an unbelievably _stupid_ thing to do, since it would make you illegal, as well," Sirius replied.

Peter blew out an exasperated breath and dropped his arms. "Fine then! I'll just go tell Professor McGonagall! Or better yet, Dumbledore!"

Sirius waved a hand in the air. "If they haven't expelled me already, they'll hardly consider this _news_. I'd rather like to think that they've been expecting it all along."

James groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead and shoving his glasses against the bridge of his nose. "Fine, Peter, we'll help you," he muttered.

Peter paused. "You're honest, now?"

James nodded. Sirius shook his head vehemently, black hair flying. James punched him in the side. Sirius then nodded, just as vehemently.

Peter regarded them for a moment, and then pursed his lips in thought. "Well, all right then. But if you finish it before me, and don't help me after that, I'm telling."

Rolling his eyes, Sirius mumbled, "Way to be mature."

Remus had been less than happy when he had learned of the recent development. Sirius couldn't blame him. Being with Peter in werewolf form would have given Remus the _perfect_ opportunity to finish the younger boy off, but if Peter became an Animagi, there would be no alibi. But Remus had merely plopped onto his bed, shrugged his shoulders, and nodded.

"Well then," he said, "I guess he just needs something to make him feel wanted. By all means, let him join."

And Sirius' jaw still hurt from hanging at that comment.

But now, he felt just the slightest pang of guilt at having berated Peter so. Maybe he didn't really deserve it. Maybe he was only acting like this because he was thinking of his father.

"OW! STUPID OWL!" he heard.

Somehow, he doubted it.

*******

Sirius:

You really are a prat. I want you to know that. While you're busy playing Dungeons and Dragons with Peter, I'm being forced to baby-sit Petunia Evans. She's five. _Five._ Five, as in, I get to be the guest at the tea party while she serves up scalding hot tea and rock-hard crumpets. You need a goddess in skimpy robes? Heck, I need an anesthetic.

Feeling oddly like a dressed-up stuffed animal,

__

James

*******

James – 

I mock thee!

Mocking,

__

Sirius

*******

Sirius:

Bite me. Literally.

__

James

*******

There was something oddly satisfying about that last message. It made him laugh, at least. Folding the parchment back into its neat little square, he tucked it away in the top drawer of his dresser, where all of his letters were now kept. Sighing, he threw himself down on his bed, coughing as a flutter of feathers exploded from his pillow. He waved a hand in his face and blew a few of them out of his eyes, waiting for them to clear away.

Snapping his fingers as he finally remembered, he rolled over onto his stomach, and withdrew an old leather book from underneath the bed. Holden had given it to him the night before, after hearing another argument between Sirius and Peter. As usual, Sirius had all but begged Peter to clue him in on the specifics of Powers, and Holden had thought that this book might be of use. Making a face at the dusty cover of the volume, Sirius highly doubted it.

He flipped it open to the first page, raising an eyebrow as he saw the olden script scrawling across the pages: "_Mssrs. Armand, Niger, & Niles Proudly Present the Guide to Powers_." He blinked.

"Okay, so I was wrong. Sue me."

He flipped another couple of pages, chewing on his lip as he glanced at the none-too-pleasant illustrations. There was one of a man turned inside out, one of a sun next to the moon – with no light coming from either, and one of a large explosion. He could only guess that the source of the bits of shrapnel flying by in the picture was the earth itself. He winced, and slammed the book shut.

"Okay, so maybe I didn't want to know what Powers were. Maybe Peter was right." He thought over that for a moment. "What am I saying?" He banged his forehead against the thick leather of the book, and let out an almighty groan. "I'm too young to have ulcers, aren't I?"

"Not entirely. I knew a five-year-old that had one, believe it or not."

Sirius lifted his head to find Holden Granger standing in his doorway, leaning against the frame casually. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to know that you think Peter was right and that you're a complete idiot for ever thinking that. Don't worry, can't say that I blame you."

Sirius sighed, and drew himself up into a sitting position, leaving the book where it lay. "Well, it's good to know I'm not the only sane person here."

"We're all sane, in our own state of mind." Holden left the doorway then, and crossed over to Sirius' bed, sitting down on the edge of it. He lifted the book in one hand, and flipped through it disinterestedly.

"Yeah, just don't go all…philosophical on me, or anything." Leaning his back against the wall, Sirius drew his knees up to his chest. "Tell me, Holden…what do you know of Powers?"

Holden glanced at Sirius quickly, and then set the book back down on the bed. "Enough to have harnessed them. I'm not particularly Powerful, mind you, but I have the Eye to see the talent. I see it in you."

Sirius dragged a hand through his bangs, shoving them to one side. "Argh…I said no philosophical statements."

"Cryptic, you mean."

He waved a dismissive hand. "What have you. Same thing."

Holden cleared his throat, and looked out the tiny window for a moment. "Well, all I can say is that I'm glad that you came to me when you did, Sirius. Otherwise, you may have been left without any way of controlling these Powers."

Sirius narrowed his eyes, slightly, but only in defense. "So I'm not intelligent enough to understand this stuff?"

"No, not at all. Just…inexperienced. You need time to work everything out before it's clear to you. That, and you need to understand the dangers of it."

He now had the boy's attention. Sirius snapped his head up and met Holden's gaze in the flickering light that echoed off the candle on his dresser. "Dangers? What sort of dangers?"

Holden shrugged, looking away. "I heard about what happened to your friend, Remus. Voldemort wanted to recruit him, didn't he?"

Sirius silently nodded.

"He wanted to recruit him because he had certain talents. He could harness the powers of the Dark side. You may be a different story, but it's essentially the same thing."

"But…then why didn't he try to recruit me at the same time?"

Holden smiled slightly, and looked back at Sirius once more. "Well, you are sharp, aren't you?" He backed down at the adamant glare that Sirius gave him. "Well…I imagine it has something to do with the fact that a wizard capable of Powers is not revealed until the first time he uses them. You've used them already."

Sirius blinked. How could he know? "You mean…the lake, and all that?"

It was Holden's turn to look confused. "I'm afraid I don't understand. I was talking about this room. Haven't you noticed that's its _grown_?"

Sirius furrowed his brows, and followed Holden's hand as it swept the expanse of the tiny, cramped room. He tilted his head to the side slightly, noting with some amusement that there was more space between the back wall and his bed than there once had been, and that his dresser was no longer against the wall – instead, it was almost in the _middle_ in the room. "Well, no, I hadn't," he answered. "Guess I'd been preoccupied."

"Indeed."

"Well, you know. The usual Peter-bashing and complaining to James kind of gets in the way."

Holden nodded.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that, I'm a perfectly normal teenager, really. Just not very perceptive."

"And prone to make things happen that you aren't even aware of. I might suggest some lessons in this, but I don't think you'll be too eager about it."

"What! Why not? As long as there are no rules, I can't break them. That should be a challenge for me, in itself. I would enjoy that."

Holden smiled secretively. "Well, you see, that's just the problem. There are more rules that you'd know what to do with."

"Like what?"

"Oh, like how to hold your wand, what time of day to use your Powers, the Powers you're _allowed_ to use, that sort of thing."

The boy scoffed. "You must be joking."

Holden shrugged and stood from the bed. "'Fraid not. Let me know when you're ready."

"I'm ready now!"

The secretive smile returned. "No, you're not. Trust me."

Sirius made a look of disgust. "How is it that everyone knows what I don't want to hear, whilst I remain adamant that I _do_?"

Holden had his hand on the doorknob. "Well, you're very transparent, you see." And with that, he shut the door and left Sirius to brood alone.


End file.
